The day He died
by dumplingsofbolin
Summary: Edited version of 'Suffering', please R&R. God bless


**"You say this man who I find innocent, is guilty?"**

**The crowd shouted again. He wanted nothing to do with it.**

**Pilate dipped his fingers into the clear bowl, "I am free of this man's blood," He looked into the man's eyes, the reflection of sincerity clear in the blue depths, " Do what you will."**

* * *

Darkness embraced the land that day. It wasn't the type of darkness that anyone could retreat to for peace and tranquillity- for pleasure of being alone. No, it was the type that threatened little children to search for the comfort of their mother's arms.

Many people stood at the temple court, shouting and screaming for one man to be crucified. A man whose hands had healed people, whose arms gathered little children with so much love. He used to travel from village to village, district to district, just to talk. Just to preach. But not that day. Not while he walked with his head hanging down, dirt smudged on his clothing and his face still sticky from the fresh coating of saliva, courtesy of the guards.

Triumph. Pride. The shouts were loud.

* * *

Thirty-six.

Thirty-seven.

Rusty hooks and sharp bone eagerly gripped the flesh. A hand retracted and a cry of agony followed.

Thirty-eight.

He just needed one more. One more stroke of blood to be added to his already painted body.

Any man could handle five lashes. Thirty-nine was different story, though. Cat of nine tails. His arms were pressed against the rough stone of the pillar, hands bound on the other side. Blood gushed out of the wounds on his beaten back and pooled all around him, covering his feet. Shaking vigorously, he pushed away from the pillar while breathing heavily; _while __trying to stay alive. _

Anyone with only the intention of being witness would think that that was the end. The faithful- very few bystanders-_ wanted _it to be the end.

"We're only getting warmed up, Your Majesty." The soldier ran his fingers through Jesus' hair, finding a suitable place on which to grip. Jesus' head was tilted up ever so slightly with a firm tug, "Be prepared."

"Clothe him. He needs to be ready for the presentation; people are getting... impatient."

Flowing fabric of purple shade was brought out to caress his skin. A crown made of twisted thorns was thrusted upon his head. "King of the Jews," one temple guard snickered. I caught a glimpse of Jesus' face. His eyebrows knitted into a deep frown as he leaned forward to rest his head against the pillar.

And he was crying.

* * *

I was never well acquainted with Pain and Suffering. Of course the crowds didn't want to miss the opportunity of killing him- a blasphemous miscreant.

He didn't deny it, though. Everything he said to council, in those rare moments when he chose to speak, he didn't deny. It was all repetition. But it help him in front of the laughing crowd where he stood wrapped bloodstained garments; not even when it was time to take up his punishment.

I tried to divert my gaze from Nazarene, concentrating on soil and shrivelled weeds beneath my feet. He fell twice, carrying that cross. Sorrow washed upon his mother's face, eyes sealed shut, concealed from the world. Concealed from her son's suffering.

"Have you ever seen anything like this?"

The man who spoke had dusty hair, patched up clothing and muddy feet;_you must have come from far, _I thought.

"No." I replied.

His name was Stephen. He travelled for miles just to go to Jerusalem for the Passover. He was young, and it was one of the few Passovers he's ever been to. He hasn't been to all, and how he decided to come to this specific Passover, God only knew.

"He's an amzing man, you know. Came to my hometown a couple months back; life wasn't same after that."

"I know. I've been tracking him since he left-" I looked ahead, seeing how Jesus was doing. He received yet another slap in his face. An indication that he was too slow. I blinked, "-my village."

Stephen walked silently beside me. His breathing was slow, and with two fingers he held the bridge of his nose, the tips touching the tear ducts. He removed his hand, closing his eyes. He finally looked up and stared at Jesus. He couldn't suppress the tear. "He saved my baby brother."

Then Jesus screamed.

It was a simple lash of a whip and a cry of pain. He was forced to keep trudging up the hill.

I squeezed Stephen's hand._"We'll be fine?"_ He shook his head._Not today.__  
_

Jesus wasn't strong enough. Those close to him started to push him. He was almost there...

Jesus wasn't standing anymore.

I took a few breaths, standing emotionless, waiting for something to happen. "And to think," Stephen wispered, "that we did this to him." It took some time for everything to sink in. I looked to the ground, feeling the moist texture beneath my feet. I was getting to know Pain and Suffering.

* * *

_Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani? _

Jesus bowed his head, his spirit gone. That was it. The end of his life.

Lightning flashed through the gloomy clouds, illuminating what were three silhouettes of bodies pinned to their own tree. With a spear, a soldier pierced Jesus' side to confirm his death.

And all I could do was beat my breast at the foot of the cross, fear and sadness carved into the lines of my face. It was difficult, paying my respects to him; a hanging corpse with eyes closed, eyes that couldn't give a sense of hope, not while he was nailed to that cross.

Some people crouched down before him, feeling scared, almost helpless, not knowing what was going to happen. Some retreated, and others started to fight.

Riots broke out, temples crumbled and everything was destroyed. I turned around and saw a soldier clutching his face, crimson blood dripping down his wrist. I recognised the man who struck the soldier. He was that blind man that used to beg by the markets. The one Jesus healed.

I looked back to where Jesus hung. Like the blood that seeped out of the stabbed wound on his left side, the tears slipped from my eyes, searching for an escape.

"Yeshua?"

* * *

I truly remember the Nazarene's death. After the fight quieted down, there were requests forJesus' body. Once they've gotten through to Pilate and had permission, soldiers agreed to bury him. I remember how a faithful man quickly plucked the nails from his hands and feet, how his mother, Mary, cradled his limp form with trembling hands. I remember his death.

But I also remember His Resurrection.

And for a change, people are happy,_He didn't abandon us. He knew we needed Him. God knew. _Maybe there is hope and a future for us, that there's life after darkness.

"Why'd You do it?"

"How would my people be saved otherwise?"

He looks to the horizon, over the land until His blue eyes rest on the people. He takes my hand in His, His gaze still on the crowd, "Because of Love."

He turns to face me and He kisses my forehead. "Peace be with you." He says, then departs.

I have one more glance at Him before heading towards home. I'm never going to forget You, Jesus of Nazareth.

"Told you He was amazing!" A man shouts from the hill.

It's Stephen.

"You!" We run. We embrace. "I know that, thank you very much."

He snorts,"And?"

"People are staring."

"And?"

Tears of pure joy. I use my palms to wipe my face.

"He'll always be there, you know."

Still in our embrace, I smile.

"I know."

* * *

**A/N: EDITED :). Hope you all enjoyed it. Please, go easy on me, it was my first fanfiction. Any comments or opinions, I'd appreciate it. A big thank you to JackieStarSister. God bless :D**


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